A Book By Its Cover
by konigen
Summary: Barty of all people should know better than to judge a book by its cover.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter was at my house last night and I'd almost gotten him to sign the contract that said he belonged to me, but then the emergency portkey that JKR had surgically implanted in his brain activated. Curses!

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><p>Barty hated St. Valentine's Day. No, more than that. He <em>loathed<em> it. It's an excuse for girls to be love struck and stupid, an excuse for boys to parade around and whisper _look at me look how popular I am_.

Not to mention it got in the way of his studying. The library, usually a quiet refuge, was filled with giggles and badly stifled gasps. _Annoying_. He pouted hatefully at the world and hunched further into his book on experimental and banned transfiguration. It had been a gift from one of his father's friends at the Ministry, delivered by owl this morning. She was trying to seduce him, which was stupid. She'd been a _Gryffindor_ of all things, and had barely (this information came from another suitor, an Auror, a Hufflepuff infinitely smarter than that foolish woman) passed her N.E.W.T.S. Even if she did manage to give good gifts, he wasn't going to look twice at her. Or at the man who provided the information on her, either. They were all so _boring_. They wanted a pretty thing on their arm to show off, and he wasn't interested in something so dull.

"Studying today of all days, Barty? What _am_ I going to do with you?" came the lazy drawl that Barty belatedly realized he'd been anticipating all morning. He tensed up and curled further into the plush armchair he'd transfigured out of the hard wooden chair that Madame Pince kept arranged around the tables in the vain and misguided hope that it would dissuade students from spending significant time in the library.

"You sound like your brother when you do that," Barty snapped back, turning a page sullenly. He got a hiss in response. Bringing up Sirius just barely escaped being a low blow. In fact, if anyone else had done it, they would have probably spent the next several hours walking around in a hexed daze.

"Why _are_ you studying a boring book when you could be out breaking hearts?" Regulus asked, sounding sulky. Barty rearranged himself so that he could look at his companion without seeming to look at him, and so caught Regulus giving a negligent wave of his wand, transfiguring the hard backed chair he was lounging carelessly in to a black leather armchair. Frankly, it didn't look that much more comfortable than what it started out as.

He abruptly decided that since mention of Sirius hadn't been enough to drive Regulus away (not that it had that effect that often, despite everything Barty intended – Regulus seemed to have an infinite capacity for patience when it came to him, Merlin knew why) he would break his rule and go for an _actual_ low blow.

"Lady Whitemane sent it to me as a gift this morning," Barty said coolly, turning another page. He wanted nothing more than for Regulus to _go away_ and leave him in peace to wait out the rest of his most hated day of the year.

Regulus went white. Barty was a bit startled by this reaction – just because he accepted the gift didn't _mean_ anything. The gift was nothing more than an opportunity to let the gifter start courting the recipient, and Barty had already sent back a vague and dismissive thank you. He wouldn't accept courtship from Alinys Whitemane if his very life depended on it.

"You are such a _bastard_ sometimes, Bartemius," he growled, voice hoarse. Barty stopped pretending not to watch him and raised confused eyes to his. Regulus just glared and shook his head, then pulled a box wrapped in dark paper out of his pocket and slid it harshly across the table. It slid across the table and came to a sudden stop against the spine of his book. Before Barty could so much as open his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, Regulus was up and out of his chair, disappearing around the nearest shelf.

Barty was left in a guilty silence, staring at the box. It was an innocuous looking thing, wrapped in plain black paper, no bow adorning it. Barty put aside his book and picked it up, wondering what could possibly be inside. It was a small box, fitting easily in his palm with room to spare. It couldn't be but a few things, and about half of them could be discarded because of the date.

The contents of the box, when he opened it, were anything but innocuous. It was a ring that looked seamless, crafted of black and green stone. When he picked it up, the black glinted an unhealthy grey and the green a sickly white, proving it to be Ashen Basalt, a rare and dangerous stone that was found only in the graves and tombs of Necromancers. It was nearly impossible to retrieve and touchy to work with. He'd had no idea that Regulus had access to it, although in hindsight he realized that of _course_ the Blacks had some.

What was really interesting about Ashen Basalt, even more so than the fact that more wizards lost their lives trying to retrieve it every year than were infected with lycanthropy, was that it could only be gifted once. It was an unexplained magical phenomenon – only the one who crafted it could bequeath it to someone else, and it could never be removed from its owner once it was used for its intended purpose.

The ring was mostly black, the band and half of the carving that made up the face. At first glance, it looked like a black eagle fighting with a green snake and winning, but on closer inspection this assumption proved to be false. The eagle was half curled protectively around the snake twining around it's claws, the snakes fangs, which had at first looked about to sink into the glossy breast of the eagle, were actually facing outwards, toward the looker.

Barty couldn't remember how to breathe, looking at it.

_Regulus_ had crafted this. Regulus had crafted this for _him_. And he had –

He had been an idiot.

_Where is your famous Ravenclaw intelligence?_ he thought to himself bitterly. _You should have known better than to drive him away when you know he's aware about how much you hate this holiday. Of course he would only do it because of something important._

He banished his book to his trunk and the box to the common room fire. Half way out of the library he stopped and studied the ring before curling his fist around it and heading to the battlements. Regulus always went up there when he was upset or wanted to think.

"What do you want, Bartemius?" Regulus snapped at him the minute he slipped out the door and onto the ledge where Regulus was brooding. Regulus only called him by his full name when he was angry at him, which was a bit counterproductive of him if he was trying to annoy Barty with its use. Despite however he intended to say it, it always dripped of Regulus' tongue like something dark and sweet.

"You didn't deserve that," Barty told him, because his pride wouldn't let him actually say the words '_I was an idiot'_ aloud. It wasn't enough, not yet. Regulus was ignoring him, facing towards the Forbidden Forest, and Barty couldn't make out the expression on his face. He uncurled his hand and studied the ring again. Black and green, the colors the Dark Lord had claimed as his own, to offset the red and white of his Light counterpart. He found he infinitely preferred everything the ring represented.

There wasn't any reaction when he put the ring on – the stone was notorious for having unexpected consequences when it was bound in the presence of foreign magic, but the castle was famous for breaking the rules.

Instead of saying anything, Barty slipped into place next to his friend and placed his right hand, his new ring prominent on his ring finger, casually on the stone. Regulus ignored him silently for a few more minutes before his curiosity got the best of him and he glanced over at Barty. Barty made a small movement with his fingers and Regulus' attention automatically dropped to his hand.

"You're wearing it," Regulus said, sounding mesmerized.

"I was an idiot," isn't what he intended to say, but apparently he wasn't as prideful as he thought.

Regulus' laugh sounded half desperate as he twisted around to face him, Barty mirrored his movements and reached up to cup Regulus' face in his hands, his ring cool against his skin and Regulus'. He felt hands on his hips as he leaned closer, brushing their noses together and feeling Regulus' breath on his lips. He parted them without thinking and Regulus seized the opportunity to dart forward and kiss him.

He wouldn't be surprised to find that Regulus knows that he's never been kissed before – despite everyone who tried to add him to their list of conquests he'd stayed pure. He wasn't interested in such trivial things. Well, mostly.

Their tongues were a hot tangle, wet heat and blazing desire. They broke apart – days, months, _years_, later, eventually – to rest their foreheads against each other.

"Your father will never let you," Regulus' voice breaks the silence, leaning in to brush his lips chastely across Barty's.

"My father," Barty says, voice heavy with promise, "isn't my Master."


End file.
